The Cure for Insomnia
by dulosis
Summary: Aurors Malfoy and McDonald are sent out with PostWar Trauma Healer Abbott to find escaped Auror Potter. He doesn’t want to return. HarryDraco, ONESHOT, mentions of het and femmeslash. PG13


**Title:** The Cure for Insomnia  
**Author/Artist:** hiddengoddess36/aka/Arie (**elemenohpee**)  
**Requestor:** **asinful**  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Pairing:** Harry/Draco  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Wordcount:** 11,435  
**Warnings:** A hint of crack, allusions to sex and wars and politics. Also a plethora of minor characters made not-so-minor. Plus, a profusion of Hannah Abbott and lots and lots of denial!Draco.  
**Summary:** Request: _Post-war fic. Auror Potter has disappeared during a DE clean up mission and Aurors Malfoy and insert Auror of your choice is sent to find him. But what if Harry does not wish to be found? What will it take to bring him back?_. Actuality: Aurors Malfoy and McDonald are sent out with Post-War Trauma Healer Abbott to find _escaped_ Auror Potter. He doesn't want to return.  
**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling (etc.) owns Harry Potter and everything associated. I don't.  
**A/N:** **hecticity** is a _fabulous_ beta, and any remaining mistakes are entirely my own! Also, all of these characters can be found in the lexicon, but some of them a _pret_ty minor. **asinful**, I hope this is what you wanted!

* * *

_...and then we'll need to send out another team..._

_Harry, get down! Harry! Get down!_

_...could you lose _Harry Potter

_It wasn't that hard, ma'am_

_What?_

_He just... he was... _gone

_I'm very disa..._

_I know you were waiting, and now I can be proud to tell you, that Harry Potter has been successfully captured_

_Very good work, Mr. Goyle. Now, if you would..._

_...say he has the abilities to bring You-Know-Who back, and if the rebels as captured him manage to get it out of him, well..._

_Potter? Haven't seen him in three weeks_

_One Mr. H. Potter, killer of You-Know-Who, disappeared a month ago during a raid. An Auror for the Ministry of Magic, he had successfully completed thirteen such missions, capturing past Death Eaters and so on. Officials aren't sure why this assignment, of all assignments, failed, and one Michael Corner, expert on hostile situations and strategy, is rumoured to have said that this seemed to be easier than all the others, before Potter was sent out. Corner was apparently wrong, and an informant overheard him saying as much in the Hog's Head last night._

_Potter's whereabouts are still unknown...  
_

"I don't want to stay here anymore," Harry said, and Goyle nodded.

"But you can't get out."

"I can do as I please, you know. I killed Volde-"

"Don't say his name!"

Harry nodded. "Your turn," he said, and then: "Rodolphus can't keep me. He's crap at strategy. You'd do well to leave, too..."

Goyle shook his head, scooped up the dice. "I know where my allegiance lies, thanks..."

"Suit yourself," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll be gone come morning."

Goyle protested. "I can't let you go!"

"You can't stop me," Harry returned, then rolled over and stretched out. "Lovely game, but I think I'll get some sleep, now."

Goyle nodded and locked the cell door on his way out.

"He said _what_, now?"

"That he was leaving."

"And _did_ he?!"

"Yes..."

"Greg, you were our only tie to him! Okay, we know you weren't the Lestrange Secret Keeper or anything, but how could you let him escape, we _were_ going to send out a team, and now..."

"You can still send out a team."

"What? Oh, yeah, I guess. But, Gregory, how could you let him lea--"

"He wanted to."

"_What_?"

"Morag, it's not that difficult to get, he wanted to go, so he..."

"Rodolphus Lestrange lets prisoners just leave." It wasn't a question, and Morag could see the consternation on Gregory's face.

"N-no," Gregory said. "Harry, uh, just... left?"

Morag sighed. "You do realise that this is going to set us back as much as three months, yeah?"

Gregory nodded, abashed.

"I'm going to have to go tell Shacklebolt. Oh, and Greg? Stay safe."

Gregory nodded again as Morag quit the Floo connection.

If ever there was anyone who could be classified as 'frightening', it was Morag MacDougal. From her start at Hogwarts, she showed a fierce ambition that surpassed even the most conniving Slytherin. She fought her way to the top in all her classes, and, even though Hermione Granger had been the top of the class for _years_, Morag was a close second. She very well _could_ have been first, but she tended to focus in intraschool politics a little more than homework, quickly learning who to know and who to ignore to get the most out of her time in Hogwarts.

Much like Horace Slughorn in his time, she forged alliances with those with the most brilliant connections in the school-- students, teachers, ghosts, visitors-- but, unlike Horace, she didn't forge these connections due to any craving for comfort.

Starting her third year, and then even more so in her sixth, she started taking courses that would focus her school career on politics in general, defense in particular.

She left school when Harry did, along with almost everyone else, and immediately proved to be invaluable to the war effort, taking a test and placing immediately into the third year of Auror training, getting information on the other side, and leading battles that almost always ended up in her favour, in the Ministry's favour. There were rumours of her consorting with Voldemort; however, the Minister said that all these rumours were of false design.

Whatever her true alliances, she managed to work her way through training in record time, and even quicker through the ranks as she brought in more information that lead to victory after victory. There was no doubt, in anyone's mind, that she used her schoolday alliances to influence the rapid ascent, but no one was quite sure exactly which alliances she used.

No one was terribly surprised when, after the war, she was awarded a rapidly-increasing series of medals and awards, got promotion after promotion. And when she started showing an interest in Muggle politics and became a liaison between Muggles (ones who knew about the Wizarding world, of course), and Wizards, the people found it only too fitting that she, rather than older wizards with more field experience, receive the position of Minister of Magical Defense. She awarded the head Auror position to Kingsley Shacklebolt, partly because he had earned the position and partly because she wanted to placate him (after all, _he_ was next in line to become Minister of Magical Defense when the position was awarded to her) and ensure her own longevity.

No one _would_ be surprised if they knew she went to Shacklebolt with every issue that arose, too, but everyone would have a different reason for being unsurprised, ranging from 'she's too young and unprepared' to 'she wants him to believe he has a say in things for when she gets rid of everyone'.

They _would_, however, be very surprised if they learned that she visited her people, instead of making the collective heads of the Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Unspeakables, as well as their specific departments come to _her_ office when she wanted to talk.

And visit them she did.

Once her floo-conversation with Goyle ended, Morag slipped out of her lush office and went directly to Shacklebolt's sparser one.

"Shacklebolt."

"Minister MacDougal! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Morag could see the distaste in Shacklebolt's face, along with hearing it in his words. "Strictly business, I'm afraid," she replied, even though it was _always_ 'strictly business'.

"Oh? What's happened now?"

"Potter."

Shacklebolt steepled his fingers. "What about Potter? We're just about ready to send a team to get him out of captivity."

Morag sighed. "See, that's the problem." She massaged her temples for a minute. "He's not in captivity anymore."

"What?" Shacklebolt asked. "But that's a good thing!"

"Not exactly," she returned. "He's sort of... disappeared. A little."

Shacklebolt froze. "What do you mean, _disappeared_?"

"Just what I said," Morag replied. "My contact in Lestrange's followers tells me he just up and left. Last night."

Shacklebolt sighed, and she could tell that he was resisting the urge to yell at her. "We'll have to find him."

"Yes."

"Why hasn't he shown up here yet?"

"I don't know; that's the problem, isn't it?"

"He might have gotten in trouble on his way back."

"Yes."

"Minister, can't you tell me who your contact is?"

Morag paused. "I trust him."

"But who...?"

"I trust him," Morag repeated. "That is all." She walked to the doorway, stopped without turning around. "Send a team."

She left before Shacklebolt could say anything else.

Draco Malfoy had watched MacDougal walk into Shacklebolt's office, somewhat resignedly, and he watched her leave again, purposefully, without stopping to look at her Aurors.

He couldn't help his slight feeling of distaste towards her. He owed her respect, yes. Trust, too, and thanks. If not for her, he'd probably be stuck doing menial labour, or perhaps solely office work in some dusty old department, if he weren't still in Azkaban. But she had helped clear his name (he and a bevy of other ex-supporters of the Dark Lord), helped him land a spot in Auror training, and, as such, he owed her at least some modicum of thanks.

But that didn't stop his distaste.

He realised that he'd been standing with the cup of tea inches from his mouth, not moving to sip or put it down, for a little too long, and was beginning to move it when Natalie walked up to him.

"Malfoy, Shacklebolt wants us," she said, touching his shoulder. "Important mission."

Draco set the cup of tea down carefully. "Lestrange been found?"

"Don't know. I doubt it; he'd probably send more teams out." Natalie gestured for Draco to follow her as she entered Shacklebolt's office.

"McDonald, Malfoy, great, you're here," Shacklebolt said, rubbing his eyes. "We've got a spot of trouble that I'll need you to take care of." He leaned forward, motioned for Draco and Natalie to sit down. "It's about Potter."

"Oh, has he been located?" Natalie asked excitedly.

"No such luck." Shacklebolt poured a cup of tea. "He escaped last night."

"Well-- then, what's the problem?" Draco asked. "Rather, I know what the problem is-- we get Potter back. But how is that bad?"

"He hasn't shown up yet," Shacklebolt explained. "He should be here by now. We've reason to expect--"

"--that he's run into more trouble," Natalie finished. "But, frankly, sir, why pick us as the team to go after him? We're... rather new, as a team. Surely there are other people, perhaps more qualified...?" Draco noted that she looked somewhat worried at the chance that she'd be sent out, but doubted Shacklebolt would.

He didn't. "Perhaps you've not been a team as long as some others--" he bowed his head towards Draco-- "It's unfortunate that Malfoy lost his old partner-- but you two are the only team with one of Potter's friends, and one of his... not friends. You're bound to know more about him, collectively, than any other team."

"What about Weasley?" Draco asked. "He's Potter's best friend. Wouldn't that make him more likely to know about Potter than McDonald and myself?"

"It would," Shacklebolt said. "_But_ he's on his honeymoon. On leave for another week, and we can't afford the time."

Oh.

Shacklebolt continued: "Anyways, Weasley and Tonks are both Potter's friends. They'd know the same things about Potter, but, as I just said, you and McDonald aren't _both_ his friends. So, collectively..." He trailed off at Natalie's nod. "We've tracked down the location where Potter last used his wand; he wasn't there when we checked, but it's a good starting point for you two. We'll have a Portkey ready for you half past six tomorrow morning. Be sure to be here... yes, McDonald?"

Natalie cleared her throat. "What if he's been negatively affected by his time in captivity? I mean, you know, what if he hasn't come back because of some psychological thing?"

"Hadn't thought of that," Shacklebolt murmured (Draco suppressed the urge to say _isn't it your job to think of that?_). "I'll call in someone from Mungo's. Someone who specialises in war-related... things."

Draco nodded. "Do you have anything besides the location of his last count of wand use, sir?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "You'll have to start from scratch. Get prepared now. Get lots of sleep tonight, be ready to go early. I'll send whichever Healer arrives to you straightaway."

As Draco followed Natalie out, he noticed Shacklebolt put his head down on his desk.

"No, I really don't think that Potter was captured by a secret group of ninja Death Eaters that evaded both our searches _and_ Voldemort's recruiting during the War," Draco told Natalie sarcastically, gesticulating wildly. "Here, pass me the tea."

Natalie didn't. "No, I don't think you're listening to me," she said. "Not that he was captured by a... errant band of _whatever_. All I said was, what if he's incapacitated?"

"That's ridiculous," Draco started to say, just as another voice broke in: "That's actually highly likely, you know."

Draco and Natalie looked up, to see a witch dressed in blue robes emblazoned with a black wand and vial: the robes traditionally associated with St. Mungo's psychiatric Healers. Draco felt sure that he should know who she was, she seemed about his own age and her blonde braid and wide, smiling face brought to mind _pigtails_, of all things. Some Hufflepuff girl, perhaps?

She stood at the door, and smiled at them when they didn't respond. "He _could_ be incapacitated, only maybe not by _people_, if you get my drift..."

Natalie frowned. "Not by animals!" she said, before she realised what she was saying. She laughed. "Oh, yeah, he might," she sobered up. "He might be... perhaps a memory charm?"

Draco was about to point out that MacNair had tried to modify Potter's memory during the war, and failed, when the blonde witch spoke up again. "Unlikely, but a possibility. Remember-- the news hasn't yet got out that he's... out of captivity. If it were a memory charm, either he'd still be in captivity, or word would have gotten out that Harry was wandering the countryside pretending to be a Muggle and generally causing loads of mayhem with uncontrolled magic."

Draco nodded assent. "Also, MacNair failed at modifying Potter's memory back during a battle, you know. Two years ago. I doubt he's grown less able to ward them off?" He smiled at the Healer. "Sit down, why don't you?"

She laughed. "I would, but... there seems to be only one seat. And Mrs. McDonald seems to have taken the desk."

She had a point. They were in Draco's cubicle, and space was scarce. But still... "No matter, you take my chair," Draco said. "I'll be a gentleman."

He missed the crinkle of amusement at her eyes, at Natalie's eyes, as the two women exchanged a look. "Don't bother," Natalie said. "She can sit next to me. Hannah, hello!"

Hannah. Hannah Hannah Hannah. Hannah the Hufflepuff, sounded more familiar, perhaps... but all Draco could remember about Hufflepuff was Susan, who had been his partner for a Charms project during sixth year, and that Smith bloke, who never shut up, but who was the decent sort. For a Hufflepuff.

He noticed Natalie and... Hannah? looking at him. "What?"

"I _said_, do you remember Hannah Abbott?" Natalie returned, smiling faintly.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," Draco replied. "I remember Hannah, hmm, Abbott. Hufflepuff, right?"

Hannah beamed. "That's right!"

"Figures we'd get a _Hufflepuff_," Draco muttered, and Natalie kicked him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Hannah answered for him. "Means I'm good for being loyal and not much else," she said. "Or so says the stereotype. You _do_ know that that's only the barest of descriptions, right?" she asked, rounding on Draco.  
"Suppose," he returned. "That Smith guy is alright."

Hannah laughed. "Isn't he just darling? He's practically the antithesis of the Hufflepuff stereotype," she told Draco. "--Which means, of course, he's just as Hufflepuff as the rest of us." She left Draco to puzzle that out as she turned to Natalie. "So, what's the situation?"

Natalie started explaining it to her, and Draco half-listened. There wasn't much to hear; just their theories and the way that all they knew was that Potter wasn't under Lestrange's hold anymore.

"And he's supposedly been free for… how long??"

"About twenty-three hours," Draco answered, automatically. "A long time, considering"

"Long is relative," Hannah returned. "Where was Lestrange holding him?"

"We don't know," Natalie replied, and Draco cut in: "It was under _Fidelius_"

Hannah smiled, a half-sad smile. "Isn't it ironic," she began. "Isn't it ironic that the Death Eaters have Fidelius, too?" At Draco's questioning look, she elaborated. "_Fidelis_ is the word that Gregor Valentina based the spell off of. It means trusty. You know? Faithful. Isn't it ironic that both sides use it?"

"If you mean that Death Eaters aren't loyal," Draco began angrily, but Hannah gestured for him to settle down. "No, I mean that both sides use it, and, you know. We don't trust Death Eaters, except to torture muggles and try and off Harry. And they don't trust us to do anything but follow a rigid moral structure. It's almost funny, how both sides employ it. Also that it was created by perhaps the most blatantly honest, non-secretive wizard in our history," she added as an afterthought.

Natalie nodded, in wondering agreement. "You know, you're right," she murmured. "I never… I never thought of that, that way."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "This is all well and good," he interjected. "I always, you know, appreciate a good discussion about magical theory. But we've a missing Potter to find, and I've a feeling that Shacklebolt will be _very upset_ if he does something stupid-- as he's apt to do-- like die."

Hannah nodded. "Apologies for digressing," she said. "So it's been twenty-three hours?"

Natalie nodded. "And he's powerful--"

"Very powerful," Hannah interrupted, smiling, then blushed. "Sorry, go on."

"He's powerful, and could probably Apparate here in, well, no more than two trips? They say Dumbledore could Apparate from the northernmost point of Scotland to the shores of France in one go, and he was the most powerful wizard of his time."

"Unless they took away his wand," Draco pointed out. When Natalie turned her head to stare at him, he flushed a little. "What? It's a logical thought, it's..."

"It is," Natalie said. "And I hadn't thought of it, so, good thinking!"

But Hannah was chewing her lip. "Can he, I mean, how good is he at wandless magic?"

Natalie paused. "I don't know."

Draco waved his arms frustratedly. "Natalie! McDonald! You're supposed to be his 'friend who knows loads about him'! That's why Shacklebolt picked _our_ team!"

"...and because you're his enemy," Natalie pointed out. "Don't _you_ know?"

"No," Draco said, sullenly. "Why should I?"

"Don't pout," she shot back. "And I don't know, didn't you duel him or something during the wa--" Natalie froze, realising what she was saying. "Uhm. Sorry. Forget I said anything?"

Draco was prepared to say _no!_ quite firmly, but Hannah, who had been watching the exchange critically, stepped in. "It's okay," she said. "I mean, Natalie, you weren't in the DA."

"Through no fault of my own," Natalie muttered. "I was too young. Just a second year, not ready for all those spells they used..."

Hannah regarded her curiously. "You weren't too young," she said. "Harry'd have let you in. But no matter, what's done is done, and the _point is_, after DA stopped-- after fifth year?-- Luna and I got on okay, and _she_ knew about Harry's wandless magic. Somehow."

"Well? How good did she say it was?" Draco asked, a little impatiently.

"I never asked," Hannah said. "In Herbology, I overheard Hermione talking to Justin, you know, about how Harry's skills seemed to be improving faster than he was being taught..."

"Snape's Potions book," Draco interjected. "But. They were getting better?"

"Yeah, so I think he's probably pretty good."

"Good enough to Apparate long-distance?"

"I don't know," Hannah said. "Perhaps? He _did_ kill You-Know-Who..."

"With a wand," Natalie pointed out, and Draco added, "and a lot of help from his friends."

"Yes, but the point is," Hannah said, and she smiled faintly. "-That's a line from a muggle song, the help from friends, you know- well. Anyways, the point is, he did it."

"So," Draco said, hurrying to come to some conclusion. "We don't know if he can Apparate long distances, and it's doubtful that anyone we can reach at this time of night would know. So--"

"So, we need to think of other things," Natalie finished. "Maybe he's not in Britain?"

"No, Shacklebolt would have told us," Draco said. "Uhm. Perhaps he's lost? No, that's ridiculous."

"He could be going to see a friend, a guardian, someone," Natalie mused. "Remus Lupin?"

"But Lupin'd have told us," Draco pointed out. "Anyone would have."

"Did you consider," Hannah broke in, looking first at Natalie and then at Draco. "Did you consider that maybe he just... doesn't want to come back?"  
"That's," Draco began to say. He _wanted_ to say _that's impossible_, but Natalie spoke before he could.

"I... hadn't even..." she said, trailing off. "It's possible... explains more than any other theories?"

Draco reconsidered. "It _does_ make sense," he murmured. "Not a lot, I mean, not for _Potter_, but some..." He looked up at the two women. "But it will be almost _impossible_ to find him if he doesn't want to be found."

Hannah nodded slowly. "I'm... not so good at the finding part. The Auror part. I wasn't trained for it-- you know? But... tell me what you both know about him? I could maybe... there's bound to be some logistical way... some _pattern_..." she broke off and looked at the two Aurors. "Maybe I could help with more than just healing?"

Natalie nodded. "Wonderful," she said. "Uhm. Let's come up with some plan of action before you start--psychoanalyzing--his travel, or whatever..."

It was almost eleven by the time they'd worked out a loose idea about where Harry might travel, a loose idea about how to bring him back.

Hannah and Natalie left together after they bade Draco farewell, talking about something or another, while Draco straightened up the papers they'd mussed while sitting on his desk.

He left, too, just as they were rounding the corner, and something twinged at him. Perhaps loneliness, perhaps jealousy? But he brushed it aside, and, with one last mental check to ensure everything was in order, he, too, left.

Draco woke up all too soon the next morning. There was still over an hour until he needed to leave for the Ministry, and he'd packed before he went to bed.

He wasn't sure _why_ he was awake so early, let alone why he was panting, but when he concentrated, he could sense the last vestiges of some dream slip away.

He knew from experience that trying to remember his dream would ensure he _wouldn't_, so he calmed his breathing, and tried to fall back asleep.

He fell into a half-waking state, drifting in between consciousness and sleep. A sifting of images drifted past his closed eyes-- a pine tree in the snow, flashes of vibrant lights, a body falling over a parapet, a body rolling with another in bed, a wrapped gift, a badger. He somehow knew, in his relaxed position, that these were images from his dream, but he didn't know how they fit together, what they meant

He started fully awake with a tapping on his window. Pansy's owl, and it looked impatient. Not that it wasn't always.

Draco dragged himself out of bed and went to the window, mentally chastising himself for thinking of dreams as at all pertinent to real life. (_Divination is a dying art, so unreliable, dreams don't mean a thing_, he told himself) He opened it, and the owl flew in and bit his ear. Hard.

"Bloody owl," he muttered, untying the letter and opening it. "Treats are in their usual spot. Go away."

The letter was brief (for Pansy), and to the point.

_Draco, _darling_,  
Blaise and I are off to France for a few weeks, don't wait up!_

_I've heard from an... undisclosed source... that you're off on another madcap adventure with those Ministry people. Stay safe, darling! Try to get assigned to following a stunningly gorgeous girl-- less stunning than me, of course!-- and have your most _wicked_ way with her. Blaise and I will want _all_ the details, of course. We fully expect you for dinner on the fifteenth. Eight o'clock, darling, and don't be late!_

_Oh, and Greengrass has been spreading vicious lies about herself. And rumours. About other people, of course. Don't let her get to you, darling; she doesn't know what she is talking about! Of _course_ you haven't seen her while you were drunk in the past month, haven't you? She's delusional, of course. You wouldn't have been spouting off about _boys_, don't worry, we know that. But she's also been saying that she's been with a girl. No self-respect, that one! She only wants attention._

_Draco, Blaise says hello, and that he expects his tie back when we've both returned! Don't do anything foolish, darling, and don't get hurt. Say hello to Vincent for us! And if your valiant duty involves finding Gregory, give him our greetings._

_We shall be copulating like mad, Blaise and I, for the next few weeks. Don't bother flooing!_

_Kisses,  
Pansy_

Draco glanced at the time. He had time--just enough-- to reply, if he hurried.

He scrawled his reply:

_Pansy, love,_

_I'm quite jealous, you know. France! While I run all about the country in search of... well, I'm sworn to confidentiality. But your sources, they must be wonderful!  
I'll rather do my best to find a girl; perhaps I'll have to go undercover in a pub and have a delightful tumble with a peasant. Just for you, of course. The things I do!_

_Between you and me, Daphne is getting much too complacent (No, I haven't been drunk near her for over a... well. Never). Something should be done. Nott, perhaps?_

_Blaise will get his tie once I've finished with it. And I won't get hurt, don't worry._

_Have fun, er, copulating. May your labours be fruitful!_

_Much love,  
Draco_

Calling Pansy's owl over, he tied his response to her leg and sent her off.

He glanced at the time again. Just enough time to get dressed, make sure everything was in order.

And then off to the Ministry, to meet up with Natalie and that Hannah woman.

Hannah was already there, and Natalie came yawningly in about five minutes later. Hannah seemed to understand that Draco and Natalie didn't talk much when they were about to set off on an assignment.

They moved about the office silently, getting everything they might need that they didn't already have. Once they had everything they could think of, Natalie shrunk it all and put it in her bag.

They Apparated out to the place where Shacklebolt had told them Potter had last used his wand.

It was small; a backwards sort of village, and the people they questioned couldn't recall seeing any young men with black hair, glasses, and a scar walking about in the last few days. They next went to the places Hannah had hypothesised that Harry might go to, with much the same results.

And so it went for a week. Everywhere they went, no one had seen any sign of a Harry-like person in the area.

And then the Ministry owled them with another place Potter had used his wand.

_...found him yet?_

_No, sir, he's still missing._

_It shouldn't be this hard to find _Harry Potter

_With all due respect, sir, you'd be surprised._

_Carry on, then._

_Natalie, I don't think..._

_Well, I _do_ think._

_It's imposs--_

_waitwaitwait! Is that _him

_So let me get this straight. You found Potter, and let him _Disapparate

_But, it wasn't our fau..._

_Rumour has it that Harry Potter is out of a month-long stint in captivity-- and in hiding. Sources dispute whether he's hiding from Lestrange or some terrible new foe; however, all of Wizarding Britain should be paying close attention to anything odd that might pose a problem. His whereabouts are still unknown, and anyone with information shall be greatly rewarded upon safe recovery of..._

_I spoke to Potter today._

_You _did_, where is he!_

_I... don't know._

_HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW?_

_Didn't ask._

_You-- what, Gregory, but this was our one chance!_

_I know, I'm sorry, but... his trust! I couldn't violate it._

_Who are you, to talk about violating trust like tha..._

_HARRY J. POTTER: IS THE ENTIRE CAPTIVE SITUATION JUST A SCHEME? One witch explains her reasoning that it is, in fact, a secret honeymoon..._

_I _told_ you, he might not want to come ba...  
_

It had been two more weeks of nothing, and Draco was getting tired. Tired of false leads, tired of staying in inns every night, and tired of being around Natalie (who was fine, really, just... rash. The one time they'd spotted Potter, she had called out... and he had Disapparated immediately. Rash, and something of a Gryffindor) and Hannah (entirely too awake and entirely too happy, the grand majority of the time. She wouldn't stop smiling! Even when something was going wrong--like when Natalie had let Potter get away).

He was tired, could tell that the others were tired, too. Antsy, waiting for something, _anything_ to happen.

It wasn't happening. Not until they, on whim, decided to visit a small town that they'd already visited, and got there in the middle of some esoteric Muggle festival.

The first person Draco saw was none other than Mr. H. Potter himself, walking rapidly, head down, across the square where the festival was being held.

He motioned for Hannah and Natalie to be quiet, gestured to Potter. Natalie didn't seem as apt to shout after him, but Draco glared warning at her just the same.

Hannah looked confusedly at Draco. "Draco!" she whispered. "That looks nothing like Harry! Remember, Harry has _black_ hair?"

He nodded. "I _know_, but it's him. I know it's him. Can't you tell? He's walking like Potter. You know? It's him. So what if his hair is-- oh, Merlin, it's blond. It's not allowed to be blond! _My_ hair is blond!—so what if it isn't black?"

Natalie frowned, focused on the retreating back. "It's him," she said. "Draco's right."

"I realise that both of you are Aurors," Hannah said. "And I'm just a Healer. With no training in tracking people. But... how is this Harry?"

"The glamours," Natalie said, just as Draco said: "Only Harry would walk like that."

Draco ignored the odd looks the other two gave him. "Glamours, glamours, Natalie, are there really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, and some pretty extensive ones at that." She turned to Hannah. "I'm... decent at seeing through glamours."

Hannah, who was nodding to Natalie's statement, whirled at Draco when he coughed. "What?"

"She's decent... she's bloody brilliant at it!" He smirked at Natalie. "One of the reasons I don't complain about a _Gryffindor_ as a partner."

Natalie jabbed him. "Whatever, Draco, he's going away. Should we follow, do you think?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes. Wait, I mean no. I mean, don't be seen? I should tell Shacklebolt..."

She nodded, and then Hannah was poking both of them. Hard. "Hush, you two!" she hissed. "He sees us!"

They all froze, looked over at Harry.

Who was most definitely Harry (_He should've put a glamour on that scar_, Draco thought briefly, _if he didn't want to be found_). And who was most definitely looking straight back at them.

Hannah half-raised a hand, seemingly unconsciously, as if in greeting, and Harry, getting over his apparent shock, ducked behind a door.

That night, they established that Harry hadn't left (There wasn't any record of any magic in the area, save for their own recent Apparation). He was just... pretty well hidden.

Both Hannah and Natalie went to bed early that night. They seemed to think that the next day would bring a lot of activity-- and well it might. At the very least, it would be more active than their entire mission had been up to that point-- and, as such, they wanted to get loads of sleep.

Draco _meant_ to go to sleep early, he really did. But, try though he might, he couldn't quite manage to fall asleep. What seemed to be a hundred and one different nerves were sizzling, and he felt as if, if he didn't move, he would quite possibly explode.

So, after writing a quick note to Natalie (in case she or Hannah woke up and wondered where he was), he slipped out of the inn and went for a walk.

He didn't have any destination in mind; indeed, he knew nothing about this part of Britain at all, except that there were a lot of fields. So, he let his feet take them where they may, as he reflected on their mission thus far.

He was just coming to the conclusion that, up until earlier that day, it had been all but uneventful, when he spotted the silhouette of someone else wandering. "Hello," he started to say, but it only came out as "Hel," because he realised that the other person was Potter.

Potter turned around, almost resignedly. "Malfoy," he said, loudly enough for Draco to hear him, but not loud enough for Draco to hear him well.

Draco walked closer. "Potter," he returned. "It's been ages."

"What do you care?" Potter asked, half-curiously.

"Obviously," Draco sneered, "It's my job. Rather, it's finding you or my job."

He had thought that his reply was quite witty, but apparently, Potter didn't.

"Arsehole," he responded, glowering furiously (Draco thought: _that doesn't quite work with the blond hair. Not that anything would_). "So I'm just a project to you?"

"And Natalie, and Hannah Abbott," Draco returned cheerfully. "And, just so you know: your hair? It's even uglier than normal. Just so you know!"

"Natalie... McDonald?" Potter asked, then shook his head. "Rather, don't tell me. Go away."

Draco feigned shock. "I can't do that!" he protested. "My job, remember?"

"Fuck your job and fuck you," Potter said. "I don't want to be found, _thanks_."

"Does that mean you, well, 'don't want to come back'?" Draco asked, cocking his head. "Please say it doesn't."

"It does mean that."

"Crap, Potter, now I'll owe Hannah thirty sickles!"

Potter didn't seem to know what to say to that. "Whaaa?"

"I _mean_, Potter, she said that you wouldn't want to come back. And I said you did. So now-- well, I didn't actually _bet_ her or anything, but I'll have to live with her saying 'I told you so' to me. From a Hufflepuff! It's not done."

"Hannah's a smart woman," Potter informed him. "Unlike you. You're incredibly stupid. And... what's so important about her being from Hufflepuff?"

Draco glared at the blonder-than-himself Gryffindor. "I'm not a woman," he said. "Idiot. Slytherins are _always_ more right than Hufflepuffs. Did I mention your hair was disgusting?"

"I think you did," Potter returned, his mouth in a tight line. "Have I told you to go away yet?"

"Only a few times," Draco said. "Doesn't mean I will."

Potter growled. "Fuck your job, it's your _life_ you should--" he broke off. "Just. Go away."

"My _life_? Potter, Potter, enough with the melodramatics!" Draco considered. "I don't want to go away. Not until you fix your hair."

Potter vanished the glamours with a scowl. "Better?" he asked.

"No," Draco said. "It's not blond, which is good, but it's so ugly! Also messy."

Potter looked like he was going to hurt something, which was a little bit frightening. "Right, so, Potter," Draco said. "I have to go tell Natalie to talk some sense back into you. Because you're in insufferable git, entirely selfish; did you ever think that the Wizarding world might need you?"

He Apparated back to the inn before Potter could reply.

"So you found Harry, then," Hannah said.

"For the tenth time, yes, and yes, we did talk."

"Did you fight?" Natalie asked, for the third time. "I mean, _really_ fight?"

"Just the normal verbal sparring," Draco sniffed, then sipped his tea. "I mean, all we really talked about was his hideous hair. And the way he'd kill me if I tried to bring him back. You know. Normal."

Natalie sighed. "Draco, couldn't you just put all that aside, even once? It's so..."

"Childish," Hannah supplied. "I'm sorry, Draco, but she's right."

"I know!" Draco said. "That's a little bit of the problem. He has _no_ respect for our job, hmph."

The other two Looked at him. "Draco," Natalie began, carefully. "He sort of... he's an Auror, too? Remember?"

"How could I forget!" Draco wailed dramatically. "We were in _training_ together!"

Hannah leaned over and whispered to Natalie, and Natalie nodded, whispered back.

They turned to Draco, and Natalie spoke: "Okay, so here's the deal. You, I think, won't get anywhere with Harry."

"Hey, now, what, don't, I mean, isn't that why Shacklebolt wanted me?" Draco interrupted.

"Wait," Natalie continued. "So, you know, Ron and Hermione are back from their honeymoon..."

"No," Draco said. "No, no, no, NO. You can't very well _replace_ us with Potter's best friends, you know!"

"Uhm?" Natalie asked. "Just, you know, backup. His friends are more likely to bring him back than his, erm, forgive me, enemy."

"Well, you're not!" Draco said. "Forgiven, that is."

"Draco..."

"How _dare_ you think of it before me?"

"Oh. Well. In that case, could you maybe go and... find them? Ask them to come here?"

"No! Do you think they'll listen to me? Because I don't! Owl them, or something!"

Natalie paused. "Okay, so I'll go. Hannah, you _can_ make sure that he doesn't... kill Harry, or anything?"

Draco coughed. "He's more likely to kill _me_ than the... other way around."

Natalie nodded. "Fair enough. Hannah, just... try to ensure no bloodshed?"

"Yes, of course," Hannah smiled. "I... think I can manage that?"

"Yes, so, anyways, I think I can probably get them here in a week or so?" Natalie continued. "You think you two could hold Harry here that long?"

"I'll have you know," Draco began, rather pompously. "That I am a highly skilled Auror, quite capable of keeping watch of someone, yes I am."

"Sure you are," Natalie said, placatingly. "Be as skilled for the next week, yeah?"

And Draco nodded.

Natalie left later that night, leaving Hannah and Draco silent in their shared room.

Finally, Draco couldn't take the silence. "So," he began. "You're a Hufflepuff."

"I am," Hannah said. "We've been over this, what, thirty times already?"

"Thirty-six," Draco replied, and coughed. "Sorry, it's just..."

"That you don't have anything to say?"

"Pretty much so, yeah," Draco said. "Sorry?"

"You know," Hannah said. "You know, we've been searching for, what, three weeks now? And we've had perhaps a hundred conversations?"

"Yes, I know, but," Draco said. "But. It's, we're so _close_..."

"And somehow so very far?" Hannah asked. "Yeah, I know."

"Right," Draco concurred. "Right, so, Hannah. What's it like?"

"What's... what like?" Hannah was still smiling. It was still annoying.

"What's it like, being a, you know, _Hufflepuff_?"

Hannah stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "What's it like being a Slytherin?"

Draco frowned at her (forbiddingly, he thought). "What do you _think_ it's like?"

"Spectacularly dull?"

He paused. "Why on earth would you think _that_?"

Hannah shrugged. "I dunno," she said. "Maybe, I don't know, because it was?"

"Yes, but how would you _know_ that," Draco asked. "It's not like you were ever in there, is it?"

Hannah seemed to be holding something back, but she just smiled. "No, I haven't," she said. "And Hufflepuff? Was excellent."

"I'm sure," Draco said dryly, and Hannah laughed: "No, I'm quite serious! You'd have," she paused, seemed to soften about the edges. "You'd have been surprised."

"Oh," Draco said. "Okay. Uhm... you want to, you want to talk about it at all? I mean. School?"

Hannah beamed. "Sure!"

Draco couldn't sleep again that night, and, again, he found himself wandering the same fields he had traversed the night before.

He half-expected to run into Potter again, kept half an eye out for him.

When he _did_ spot Potter, however, he was... quite a bit shocked.

Potter was standing in a field. Not the field from the night before, but one much like it.

And he wasn't alone.

As Draco watched, Potter and the person with him, they _kissed_. And _kissed_, and kissed some more. Draco was so morbidly fascinated with this (quite despicable!) behaviour that, at first, he didn't notice...

But then, of course, he _did_ notice. He threw himself back from his vantage point, felt himself tripping over his feet as he rushed away from the dreadful scene (for it _was_ dreadful!)

As he ran back to the inn as fast as he _possibly_ could, the image kept popping up in his mind.

Potter, and _tongue_, and then there wasn't a _shirt_, and! Potter wasn't kissing a _girl_, he was, he was kissing another _boy_, and if that wasn't completely abnormal, Draco didn't know what was. It was _wrong_, Potter and a boy, they were the same... the same... the same kind! And _kissing_! And it was entirely disturbing and Draco didn't see why, not at all, and it was entirely disgusting.

And then Draco found himself on stairs, and then he was banging the door to his room wide open, and there was Hannah, and she was sitting up looking _entirely_ mystified. Also sleepy.

"Draco, what," Hannah mumbled. "What is it?"

He didn't care that she seemed dead tired, she was a mostly sane person (the happenstance of her Hufflepuff state had to be overlooked at a time like this, it _had_ to!). For the most part. And _more importantly_, she was obviously the most sane person he knew that was in the area. Potter, most certifiably, wasn't sane. He was going around kissing _boys_, after all!

So he let it all tumble out: Potter kissing the boy, the boy kissing Potter, the lack of shirts and the way their hands had moved all over each other (Even in naughty places! Which was really quite disturbing when Draco thought about it. Not that he wanted to think about it) and the way that they had kissed and their skin and the moon and how incredibly disturbing it all was.

"But why is it disturbing?" Hannah asked. "Draco-- why do you think it's so, you know, terrible?"

"Because it _is_!" Draco insisted. "Potter was kissing a _boy!_"

Hannah turned quite red, and Draco thought that she might be agreeing with him. "I know!" he said. "It's. It's entirely disturbing to think about!"

"What I'm interested in," Hannah said. "What I'm interested in, is your choice of words. You keep saying it's disturbing?"

"Yes! Because it is!"

"Why?"

"I should think it would be bloody well obvious!" Draco exclaimed. "It's two _boys,_ it's, it's just disturbing!"

"Yes, you've said as much," Hannah murmured, and Draco flirted with the thought that she might be slightly mad at him. But no, most definitely not... surely she agreed with him?

"You do agree with me, don't you?" Draco asked, and was a little bit shocked to see Hannah flush more.

"I'm not saying if I do or if I don't," she responded. "Until you tell me why you find two boys so disturbing."

"It's," Draco said. "It's just. It's wrong!"

Hannah just stared at him. "Why? You said that Zacharias is the decent type, right?"

"For a Hufflepuff."

"For a Hufflepuff, then," Hannah amended. "But he is?"

"Well... yes."

"What if I were to tell you that Zach kisses boys?"

Draco stared at her, revulsion spreading on his face. "Zach kisses boys?!"

Hannah nodded. "It's been known to happen?"

"But he's supposed to be sane! Unlike Potter."

Hannah looked mildly at him, and Draco noticed that, for once, she wasn't smiling. He sat there, waiting for her to speak, until: "Hannah!"

"Yes?" Her voice was clipped, maybe she saw it in him, too, maybe she thought that he was just as disgusting as Potter and Smith, but no, wait, Smith was her friend, but maybe she just made special allowances for him, Draco couldn't be sure as to why, but it was always a chance, and...

He realized that Hannah was still looking at him expectantly. "Hannah," he said.

She raised an eyebrow, and he went on. "Don't be terribly shocked?"

"I promise, I won't."

"I'm a _deviant_!" he shouted. "I'm a sexual pervert!"

"Because you like boys?"

"Yes!" Draco said, and suddenly it was all too real and made all too much sense. "I mean, no. I mean..."

"It's okay, Draco," Hannah said.

Draco looked wildly up at her. "What do you mean, _okay_? Isn't it terribly, horribly _wrong_?"

"Try not to be too shocked," Hannah said. "It's perfectly normal. Don't you ever pay attention to the Muggle media? It's _also_ amazingly legal!"

Draco was perturbed. "It's not in the least bit...?"

"No," Hannah said. "Also, I don't think they let you become a psychologist if you're frightfully mad. Even in the wizarding world..."

"What do you mean," Draco said, and it wasn't a question.

"I mean," Hannah said. "I mean that you liking boys is perfectly normal."

"Yes, but," Draco returned. "But what do you _mean_? About the not letting you practise. Are you... do you like boys, too?"

Hannah laughed. "That would completely defeat the purpose of what I just said," she reminded Draco.

"Oh, right," he said. "You're... do you like girls, then?"

She smiled widely, but didn't say anything, and Draco had to ask: "Did you ever, _you know_, with, you know, Natalie?"

Hannah's eyes grew round, and Draco thought he might be right, but Hannah turned several shades of indignation and shook her head quite firmly. "No!" she said, indignantly. "Natalie is happily married to Kevin Whitby, _remember_, there were photos of you at her wedding!"

"Oh, yeah..." Draco said. "That's right. They both kept their own names. Well. What about that Bones girl? She was Hufflepuff, wasn't she?"

Hannah pinked. "She was, but that means _absolutely nothing_. No, actually, I'd look… nevermind."

"What, now you have to tell me!" Draco said, and when Hannah protested, he told her: "I've just undergone severe trauma! I've just discovered that my undying love for girls is a falsehood! Pansy will be _so mad_ at me -- Oh, crap, Pansy! -- You have to placate this grievous news which shall no doubt disrupt my life forever!" He leaned in closer. "So. Who is it?"

Hannah couldn't help it: she laughed. "Oh, fine, it'smaybeaSlytherin?"

"Ah," Draco said knowledgeably. "I'll pretend I understood what you just said, okay?"

Hannah laughed, and Draco was suddenly struck with the notion that her round face was maybe not so annoying. "I said it's maybe a Slytherin?"

"Oh, no," Draco said. "Oh, no, no, which Slytherin, oh, Merlin, wait. It's Daphne, isn't it?"

Hannah flushed a little. "Maybe?"

"To be expected," Draco said, and since he'd found out what he wanted, he focused on more important things. "You didn't seem terribly surprised."

"About what?"

"About Harry?"

"Oh," Hannah said. "It's to be expected."

The next night, when Draco couldn't sleep again, he found himself wandering through the same fields he had the night before, and the night before that. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was searching for something; however, he didn't know what it might possibly be.

When he ran into Potter, he was less than surprised. Potter was alone, and Draco was so _very_ tempted to call him a deviant and ask where his boytoy was, but as the words trembled at the tip of his lips, he realised that it was bad form, a pot calling a kettle black.

Draco didn't realise that Potter hadn't noticed him until Potter jumped. "Malfoy!" Potter exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"Walking," Draco informed him. "I should think it would be obvious. That's generally what happens when you put one foot in front of the other."

Potter scowled. "I _know_ what walking is," he said, and as Draco murmured "could have fooled me," he continued: "I was wondering what you were doing _here_?"

Draco sighed. (Potter really could be so very dense!) "Walking," he enunciated. "We just went over this, remember?"

"Yes, but..." Potter sighed frustratedly. "_Why_ are you walking?"

"It's generally a good way to get around."

"But where are you going?"

"Potter!" Draco snapped, and stopped. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "I don't see how it's any concern of yours, _but_," he added hurriedly, as Potter seemed apt to interrupt again, "I just so happen to feel like it."

Potter seemed at a loss for words, so Draco stepped in again (thinking: _Gryffindors aren't much for conversation, are they?_). "Your hair," he said. "It's no longer blond."

"Yes, I know," Potter said. "I changed the glamours."

"You... what? Oh," Draco said, for it was the first time he noticed that Potters hair was, in fact, _red_. Like a Weasley. "That's offensive."

"To what, Slytherin?" Potter asked, and he seemed almost as amused as he seemed angry.

"No, to me," Draco returned. "And to my way of life."

"If you don't like it," Potter reminded him, "you can just go away."

"No, I rather think I can't," Draco informed Potter.

"And why not?"

"Because you haven't answered my question yet, of course."

"But," Potter said, and he looked stumped. "You haven't asked me one."

"Oh," Draco said. "Oh. Right. Well, then, I suppose I _will_ be off, after all."

"So go," Potter said, after watching Draco stand there for another moment.

"Why?" Draco asked. "Why were you with that... that... that _boy_?"

Potter froze. "I don't see how it's any business of yours," he said, evenly, as Draco continued: "Did you fuck him? Are you some sort of pervert or something?"

"Whether I did or not," Potter began, and stopped. "No, no, I don't think I need to... Malfoy. Fuck you."

And then he was gone.

Draco didn't go walking again for a few days. Instead, he kept Hannah awake all hours of the night so she could play cards with him and talk to him and generally alleviate his boredom.

He wondered why Natalie hadn't shown up again, but dismissed it as the orneriness of the Weasel. For Weasley was, indeed, quite ornery, and Natalie wouldn't just leave him here alone with a _Hufflepuff_ (who really was the decent sort, just like Smith, but Smith fucked boys and so did Hannah, though she had told Draco that that was quite untrue, and Draco was _fine_ with his own inclinations to fucking boys, he really, truly was, but couldn't there be even the slightest bit of a scandal, because it wasn't _right_, obviously, because he hadn't come up with it _first_. And, all that aside, Hannah really was the decent sort, just wrongheaded. The Sorting Hat's fault, clearly, because otherwise she was a brilliant conversationalist who had actually read _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi_-- he had thought that only himself and Granger and that Longbottom bloke had read it! How bleak his life had been! -- and also all of Lockhart's books before he lost his memory-- something Draco was _sure_ that no one but he had done) in a town where _Potter_ was on the loose.

Apparently, Natalie had taken too many Pepper-Up potions and, as such, had lost her mind.

Hannah didn't seem to mind too terribly staying up, she was just unbearably cranky in the mornings. So, one morning when the crankiness reached an unheard-of level, Draco swore to himself that that night, he would go walking again if only for some peace of mind come dawn.

It ended up not mattering. Hannah was called away suddenly that afternoon when apparently one of her friends was ridiculous enough to have a _baby_ in the middle of an assignment, and Hannah, who told Draco that she wasn't an Auror and Harry seemed quite right in the head (despite his numerous shortcomings) from what Draco had told her so there was really no reason for her to stay, went to see the tyke.

She left with a promise to come back in a day or so, "especially if Natalie hasn't gotten ahold of Ron and Hermione yet, I can't _imagine_ what's keeping her," and Draco sighed.

Not only would he not be able to sleep, but he would have no one to talk to about the finer points in _Magical Me_. Or other boys who liked boys, for that matter. (Draco had been getting quite an education; apparently, his favourite historical figure hadn't been adverse to tumbling them once in awhile, on the side).

So that night, a walk was even more in order than it ever had been.

Harry, again, wasn't with his friend, and Draco tried to ignore the twinge of relief he felt.

"Potter," he said, evenly, and Potter whirled.

"I haven't seen him since, if that's what you're wondering," Potter said, talking very fast. "He's disappeared, did you kill him?"

Draco stared at Potter, shocked. "What, and dirty my hands with some _plebe_? No, Potter, I had no designs against that particular person. I didn't even know who he was."

"And that matters to you?" Potter asked, then flushed. "Sorry. That was... well. I'm just sorry. Didn't mean to bring up the war."

"Did you?" Draco said, serenely. "That is, did you bring it up? I hadn't noticed."

Potter stared at Draco. "You're too much."

"I know," Draco proclaimed. "Unfortunately. Pansy tells me as much every time I walk in on her and Blaise, would you believe?"

"I... did not need to know that," Potter said, delicately.

"I never do," Draco returned.

They fell silent for a short while, which Draco thought was rather nice (but only because his ears weren't being tainted with Potterspeech, he was sure!), but then Potter had to go and ruin it.

"What do you want from me?"

"That's simple," Draco replied. "I want you to return, and I want my job to be finished, and I _don't_ want to be known as the Boy Who Couldn't Bring The Boy Who Lived Back! I should think that would be obvious."

Potter laughed wildly, hysterically, and Draco thought it sounded like he was actually _close to tears_.

"Don't you see, I'm as 'back' as I'm going to get!"

And Draco said, "I'm as much of an Auror as I'm ever going to be."

Potter rounded on Draco. "Look, Malfoy. Ask me anything else, really, _anything_ at all, just. Don't ask me to come back, I can't, I don't want to be an, an _icon_ or anything, don't you see?"

And Draco (who, obviously, had been affected by some rogue spell or perhaps a dastardly planetary alignment or perhaps too much sugar in his tea at dinner) couldn't help but notice that Potter had said 'anything' and there was no denying that Potter had a certain appeal (when his hair was coloured _naturally_, of course!) and of course Potter _had_ made him realise that he would always prefer boys (though that was probably a Very Bad Thing) and if nothing else there as the longshot chance that he could always convince Potter to return if Potter fell madly in love with him, and, of course, if all else failed, he could blame his actions on the bloody moonlight which softened all the edges and made Potter look almost shy and so, so vulnerable about the eyes, and Draco was really thinking about it too much.

So he kissed Potter.

After the event, he couldn't for the life of him figure out _why_ or, more importantly, _how_ he had kissed Potter (he was trying to block it from his memory, anyway. Though it wasn't really exactly _working_), but he imagined it was something like him leaning forward and pressing his lips to Potter's, and, when Potter didn't respond, _moving_ them, and when Potter gasped a little bit into Draco's mouth and tried to lick his lips even though Draco was kissing him (the nerve!) and then there was a tongue in his mouth, or maybe it was the other way around, and finally Potter fell back and his lips were so, so red and wet and swollen (and Draco tried to firmly forget the one pussy he'd seen in his life before because now was _not_ the time and anyways, Potter's lips tasted better than the pussy had). And Potter stared at him in shock.

Draco didn't blame him. _He_ would have been staring at himself in shock, if he had a mirror.

"Don't," Draco said (a little breathlessly). "Don't. Just... don't. I'm, I'm sorry. Didn't mean... sorry."

And before he could embarrass himself further, he Disapparated.

Back at the inn, he warded his room as strongly as he could and blocked it from any and all intrusions, though, an hour later, he realised that he should set the wards so that Hannah and maybe Natalie could come in if they finished with their stupid little duties. (Most especially Hannah; it was all _her_ fault, of course) So he set them, and then he barricaded the doors with pillows just in case Potter decided to track him down and kill him or something.

It took Draco fifteen hours of sitting up, prone, sleeplessly, with almost no thoughts permeating through his head before he could come up with a plan, much less stir himself into action.

His plan was simple; he owled Hannah.

_ABBOTT, you IDIOT, I've kissed POTTER and it's all your FAULT. I demand restitution! I demand protection! I... demand that you tell me what to do refuse to speak to you ever again, at least until Thursday!_

_NOT yours truly, Draco. Malfoy. The angry one._

Hannah was apparently spot-on with her replies, for, not ten minutes after his owl left (before he could remember to re-close the wards), another came swooping in.

But it wasn't from Hannah. It was from the Ministry-- Shacklebolt, to be exact, and it told him that Weasley and Granger would be there in less than an hour and to just write out a report twice over, leave a copy for the blasted newlyweds and send the other in to the Department, and just go home.

So Draco did.

Before he could bring himself to leave, however, he felt an inexorable pull to the fields again.

He tried to convince himself that it was a bad idea, that Potter might be there, and what if Potter wanted to kill him? But he waylaid all worries as best he could (he really was _quite mad_, it seemed), because what if he had dropped something the night before?

By the time he had managed to convince himself that there were no terrible monsters lying in wait, it was beginning to grow dark.

And Potter was there.

Again, he was alone, and somehow this gave Draco great courage. He strode towards Potter, intent on saying something along the lines of 'Potter, you dolt, why did you kiss me' when Potter turned around.

His eyes were vacant, he looked almost haunted, and he didn't seem to see Draco standing there. And Draco grew worried.

"Potter, I," he said. "Potter, I didn't _cause_ this, did I?"

He thought that maybe Potter hadn't heard him, because Potter didn't say anything for a minute. But then he spoke, carefully: "Don't give yourself so much credit."

Draco didn't know how to respond, and Potter continued. "It doesn't change a thing, you know. I'm still not coming back."

"I didn't, I di--" Draco's voice broke and he inwardly cursed himself. "I didn't expect you to."

"Then, then why did you kiss me?"

"For the laughs?" Draco offered. "Hm. I don't know, really."

"I thought you thought it was dis-- disgusting?"

"Never said that," Draco reminded him.

"You asked me if I was a pervert!" Harry shouted. "See, I don't," he fell silent.

"You don't what?" Draco asked. "Have any clue that your, your shirt doesn't match your shoes?"

Potter spluttered. "What, that doesn't, that makes no sense!" He shook himself. "_You_ make no sense."

"Am I supposed to?" Draco asked, interestedly.

"Yes," Potter replied. "No. I don't. I don't know."

"You're repeating yourself," Draco informed Potter. He was beginning to see that, even though Potter was obviously quite mad and seemed to manage to drive _him_ mad, there was a way that he could take control of the situation.

"I am," Potter said. "I mean, I'm not. I mean..."

"It's okay," Draco murmured, leaning into Potter, letting his lips hover a scant inch from Potter's. "Just come back to the Ministry."

Potter seemed caught between a rock and a hard place. He obviously wanted to kiss Draco, Draco noted with no small amount of interest and amusement, but he clearly didn't want to leave. At all. He seemed unsure whether to move forward the rest of the way or shove Draco back, so Draco opened his mouth to say something.

And then he smelled the alcohol on Potter's breath and suddenly felt sick.

"Potter, are you, have you been _drinking_?"

"So what if I have?" Potter asked. "I'm not _drunk_." And he leaned forward a little bit and then he was kissing Draco.

Draco pushed him away. "I don't take advantage of people," he snarled. "I don't even _like_ you."

"Bwuh?" Harry asked, and it was considerably amusing but it was also too out of place for Draco to laugh. So he just said: "Anyways, I came here, for, well, no real reason. Shacklebolt has called me back to the Ministry."

"You've failed your mission?" Harry asked.

"No need to rub it in," Draco responded, dryly. "But no. I've completed my time on the field, he's replacing me with... well, not a new team, exactly."

"Who?"

"Weasley and Granger," Draco said. "Hannah and Natalie have already left. I'm just... procrastinating. Because I'm bound to have a week or three's worth of writing out reports to make up for not succeeding."

"Oh," Potter said, and he suddenly looked furious. "Have fun with that."

Draco moved in to kiss him again, but before their lips met, he chickened out and Disapparated.

It was odd, being back home. It always was a little strange, coming back after weeks of being in the field, but this was different. Odder.

He wished the Weasley and Granger duo the best of luck (quite silently!) and decided that the best thing to do would be to take a long bath and an even longer nap.

He succeeded on the bath part, but the nap was taking quite awhile. He couldn't figure out why it had taken him so long to realise Potter had been drinking when they ran into each other that last time-- he used to know, it was his _job_ to know as soon as possible!

Yet he hadn't noticed.

And he had almost taken advantage of Potter. Even though Potter had seemed willing and sober and... but Draco didn't know what he was like with a firewhiskey (or whatever it was) inside of him, maybe that _was_ how Potter acted when he was... a little under the weather?

But no matter; that was then, this was now. It was simple. Potter wouldn't come back-- Draco could tell that no one would be able to convince him-- and Draco would go about his life (maybe ring up that Smith bloke, have dinner?) without ever seeing Potter again.

Simple.

Draco still couldn't sleep. It was daylight already (he hadn't gotten back from the Ministry until late-- Shacklebolt had wanted a full report) and the sun was much, much too bright and there was altogether too much on his mind. Like what Pansy would say when she found out that he did, indeed, kiss boys. And what his life would be like without Potter.

For he couldn't deny it. Potter had been such a large part in his life, his entire life. Too much of a large part for Draco to not notice that he didn't fight with someone on a daily basis, that there wasn't someone to call him 'Malfoy' with such derision (though that had changed, hadn't it?), that...

Draco shook himself. Potter was an egotistical arsehole who liked to confuse people in the most confusing ways. He was stupid. And his hair was ugly. Also someone was buzzing his flat.

It took a minute for the last to register, and when it did, Draco almost didn't get up off the bed. Clearly, whoever-it-was had designs to ruin any possibly attempts at sleep. And they would definitely hear him say as much. And--

His train of thoughts broke off when he noticed that it was _Potter_ standing at the door.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Why did you kiss me the one time and not the other?"

"I... didn't want you to hit-- I didn't want to take advantage-- you're _Potter_!"

"I don't want to come back. To the Ministry. But Hermione pestered..."

"How did you find the house?!" Draco wanted very much to know if Potter was a stalker now, on top of his bad hair. He wouldn't be surprised...

"Hannah told me where it was," Potter said, and somehow Draco was less surprised than he would have thought he would be.

"What do you want from me?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Potter said, and raised an eyebrow.

Draco lifted one in return.

Draco definitely did not know how they got from the entryway to his bedroom. He did not know how Potter kissed him (so hard, so bruising, so perfect) and how he had kissed Potter back or the way Potter had ground against Draco's erection and how Potter had been hard, too. He didn't know how they got rid of the trousers and shirts and he most _certainly_ did not know how he had started wanking Potter off.

At least, he would have sworn as much in court. If someone asked.

(He didn't much care for the 'nothing but the truth' expectancies wizarding attorneys had.)

He also would have said as much if a friend were to ask. And he most _definitely_ would have omitted the part where Potter sucked him off _right there in Draco's bedroom, where he hadn't had sex before _(except for with that one maid he hired for a week before he realised she was making off with notes he had on renegade Death Eater roundups, and that didn't count _anyways_ because now he was, apparently, as queer as they came and sex with girls didn't matter or count), and even under the direst of torture, he would have never, _ever_ admitted to the part where he sucked Potter off in return.

Twice.

"I've changed my mind," Potter said, gaspingly, and he kissed the come off of Draco's lips. "Have you room for me to stay?"

Somehow, Draco wasn't too entirely adverse to the idea. "You cook," he said. "And if there's a weasel infestation, I expect you to clean it up."

_  
Potter returns!_

_Mr. H. J. Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, has come back from the fell clutches of the evil Rodolphus Lestrange! And he seems to be in fine, shape, indeed..._

_I'm not coming back to work, sir._

_But, Potter, you're our best Auror!_

_No, I'm not. You know that, I know that, and I would rather own my own pla..._

_POTTER RETIRES FROM THE MINISTRY_

_Rumour has it that he plans to buy out Honeydukes before..._

_Potter, you're home!_

_I am! Wait... Malfoy... what?_

_You're _early_, I had a _cake_, but it's not done! You'll have to go back out again._

_A... cake?_

_Happy twenty-seventh birthday, Potter!_

_Uhh... I turned twenty-seven five months ago?_

_Yes, you did, but now I'm here so we can... celebrate properly._

_Is this because..._

Yes_, it's because you get to have your Gryffindor-type preschool training programme or whatever it i..._

_Hannah Abbott, Healer specialising in post-war trauma and recently spotted with one Daphne Greengrass, holding hands, has recently announced her intention to start a group therapy for those witches and wizards just coming to terms with their sexuality. Anyone is welcome; however, homosexual witches and wizards are the main focus of this group. Ms. Abbott, who..._

_Natalie, your baby is so cute!  
Thanks! I think I'm going to name her Rodolphus._

_What, Natalie, are you crazy?_

_No, I'm going to name her Emily, but isn't it _great_ that he was finally apprehended?_

_Natalie, you use too many big wor..._

_Draco, _darling_, Blaise and I have decided to accept your new lifestyle choice, embrace it, even... just so long as you let us watch you and Po..._

_Harry Potter-- is our esteemed Saviour _queer_?  
A witch discusses the possibilities of this on page 3, while another witch shows the pros and cons on page 14._

_Hannah!_

_Draco!_

_I still think you should apologise for making me kiss Potter._

_But..._

_For posterity, Abbott, not because I necessarilyhatehimanymorebecauseIdon't. Not really.  
_


End file.
